The Rational Games
by zaneventure
Summary: Twenty-five years after the rebellion was defeated, the Capitol comes back out of hiding in Russia stronger than ever—and puts on the 100th Hunger Games, pitting the absolute fittest of each District against each other. AU (or continued universe, depending on how you look at it). Rationality fic.


**A/N (Is/Isn'ts)**

This is a fanfiction. I don't own the works, worlds, or characters of Suzanne Collins, Lionsgate Media Company, or any other artists and authors I may cite in this piece of literature. I also don't own any of Less Wrong/Eliezer Yudkowsky's works or ideas.

This is an alternate universe/future fic: few characters from the original series play a part in the story. However, this is designed to work in tandem with the Hunger Games storyline.

This is a rationality fic, in part-in my humble opinion, a rational Hunger Games would be really boring, because the top tribute in training would win. Essentially, the premise is that the Capitol are a little smarter when they return, and understand basic Darwinian concepts-or so they think.

This is a Hunger Games. It is rated T for language and violence. Certain invectives will be used with taste and discretion.

This is (unfortunately) not a SYOT. There may be SYOT spots in possible sequels. In that case, they will primarily be bloodbath deaths, although if I like them they may get more coverage.

This story will be concise and faithful to Suzanne Collins's format, so you will be in the arena after Chapter 5 (out of 14)—pre-Games drama will be there, but action will soon follow!

 **I. JEU DU RAPT**

The Hunger Games were back.

It was sad to say, but unfortunately the Capitol and districts were back too.

The first seventeen years of my life had been peaceful—being born in a prosperous part of Charleston—or now, District 12, being educated appropriately, winning several athletic and academic competitions, and finally getting into Harvard.

Unfortunately, the Capitol, under its dynamic new leader, Marcus Crane, had come back out of hiding in Murmansk Oblast and promptly laid waste to the previous government.

What kind of people hid in _Murmansk Oblast?_ Wasn't that just cold and full of snow? With polar night half the time? Seemed apt for the kind of people that ran the Capitol.

Obviously, it had worked, and my senior year, government reforms had gone crazy. They had reestablished the district structure, enforced a totalitarian government, and even replaced the SAT with their own college achievement test, which was part of their "comprehensive education overhaul" that included scores for physical strength and cunning, just like the Games. We couldn't even see our scores anymore.

Who replaced the _SAT?_

The new government wasn't like the old Capitolian regime. That sovereign had robbed all the districts of their wealth, dignity, and cleanliness, and instituted security cameras and killed everyone that disagreed with them. We still had the security cameras, and we couldn't disagree with them or they would jail us and do whatever the Capitol did to punish naysayers. The Capitol had destroyed all the train lines between here and the other districts, even forcing those who had gone on vacation to remain in the district. My friend Elise had gone on vacation in District 8 and now lived there because she couldn't get back. I had tried to call her and email her, but discovered that the Capitol had severed all long-range lines. I did manage to get in touch with her through a Peacekeeper, who delivered a letter for me. Apparently the Capitol did have some faults. At least the Peacekeepers were friendly.

The new Capitol had instituted ridiculous taxes that made everyone furious. All this income only contributed to the Capitol mind-numbing its own citizens to ignore what was happening to the districts. Oh, and they had brought back the Hunger Games. Minor problem.

It wasn't like my name would get drawn. There were rumours that the Capital was exempting all college students in high-profile institutions (which were all building Capitol campuses) from the reaping. None of this was official but the Peacekeeper I knew, Jonas, had informed me that his friend in the Gamemaker department was considering two options for the first Hunger Games, and this was one of them. He wouldn't tell me the other. Frankly, I was worried more about my sister Sophia, who was a harmless little mite who would be Cornucopia slaughter within 30 seconds of the gong.

The difference this year, as well, was that District 12 had Career Tributes for the first time. All the athletic kids from Charleston had left the high school and gone to the special Career Academy, run by former Peacekeeper Virgil Roy. Personally, I couldn't be happier. They would volunteer and get killed, and I would go to Harvard. See, it was utopia. Except it wasn't.

Mostly because most people actually had enough money to go around now, the Capitol had gotten rid of the old tessera system, instead replacing it with tax cuts, which less wealthy families, such as the unemployed now living in the Seam, took to be able to pay their rent. This allowed them to have normal lives and opportunities, but each 2% tax cut (off the nominal 20%) contributed to an extra slip than the previous cut being put in the jar.

To explain shortly, a family this year of a 12-year-old that didn't take a tax cut would have 1 slip in the jar. But if they took the maximum number of tax cuts (10) to pay zero taxes at all, they would have 55 slips. Had they not been selected for 6 years, their 18-year-old self would have 406 slips in the jar.

406 slips make awfully high odds for getting reaped.

But 1 slip is also awfully high odds.

I shiver as I roll out of my bed and head to the bathroom. It's the morning of the reaping. A frosty, chilly morning, even in May. They always say that District 12 has the coldest mornings of all the districts, because it's in a valley which freezes at night. Personally, I've been to District 5. I _know_ it's colder. I hated the nights in Minot.

My mother said that her childhood house, in the Seam, had only one bedroom for everyone. I feel privileged to have the one bathroom, knowing that it's only been twenty-five years since the Capitol was kicked out the first time. One more year and I would have been dead.

The lady across the street, Katniss, and her husband Peeta were in the last two Hunger Games. Peeta has a prosthetic leg and I heard he lost his leg in the final moments of the 74th Hunger Games. We don't talk to them about the Games much, as they're probably scarred from what happened, both mentally and physically, as was obvious in Peeta's case.

All we know is that they were part of the rebellion that saved our lives. Katniss's oldest daughter is 13 and getting ready for the reaping. Everyone hopes that she won't get reaped. That would be too oddly appropriate for the Capitol and their cronies. The only problem is that the new guys in the Capitol are pretty smart. They're the ones who got away, after all. They would realize that reaping Katniss and Peeta's daughter would only contribute to steaming another revolution, successful or not. They just don't want to risk that.

She probably doesn't even have a slip in the jar. Lucky her.

Crane is intelligent, I remind myself as I close my front door and exit onto the streets of District Twelve in the dress that makes me look like a martyr, a maiden up for a memorable sacrifice to a higher being, an archaic, barbarian rite from a faraway land. I look good, but there's something ominous about the dress I am wearing. Maybe I should change it. But then I realize I've worn this dress far too many times. It's me. I don't look like I'm already one of many. I look like I've already been chosen.

I dispel these thoughts from my head as I reach the old traditional town square, where a podium has been erected in the center with a ramp to the Justice Building. They used to have the podium on the steps of the Justice Building, but Effie Trinket (the District 12 escort) complained about not being able to walk up steps in her heels, and so they devised a plan so that all could watch from all around as the tributes were selected. Plus, they get to see them walk the comparatively longer walk from the podium to the Justice Building and evidently to their deaths. How exciting.

I must just be on time, because they hurriedly usher me into a roped-off section marked 17G and everyone starts getting prepared for the festivities. There are several important-looking Peacekeepers and Capitol officials there to make sure that everyone is being compliant, and a Capitol official in a grey suit and tie comes to the podium and introduces himself as Lucius Marius Rufus, the Director of Public Information. He proceeds to read a long history of Panem that excludes the years of the rebellion and miraculously recounts the "glorious return" of the Capitolian government. The presence of the Peacekeepers' sniper rifles from the roof of the Justice Building halts all our otherwise inevitable laughter.

Katniss and Peeta have been invited to sit on the stage, and it's clear that they are uncomfortable sitting next to a bunch of armoured Peacekeepers. Peeta looks like he's going to pull out a knife any minute and stab the guy behind him. To Katniss's left sits Virgil Roy, the head Peacekeeper; to Peeta's right sits James Hawcliffe, the mayor. Haymitch Abernathy, one of only other two previous District 12 victors, died of cirrhosis nine years ago. None of the VIPs look very excited to be where they are.

Then Effie Trinket, a figure I have heard about so many times, but never thought or hoped I would have the chance to see in real life, steps up to the podium. Damn. I'd hoped she wouldn't be one of the ones who had made it out, but perhaps being a cunning escort makes good chances for District 12 in the next Games. She was already old, I remembered hearing, but she looks older now. She has clearly had some plastic surgery, making her look like some odd alien mutt.

"Welcome, everyone!" she exclaims in that high, reedy voice with its pretentious Capitolian accent. People used to describe it as British, but I've been to Britain. It's nothing like that. It's just the most-well, _pretentious_ thing I've ever heard in my life.

"Aren't we all excited to be here?" she continues. "Behind me, we have two AMAZING victors, that I helped sponsor to victory! Let's have a large round of applause for Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!"

There is a quick moment of silence and then the crowd awkwardly starts politely applauding.

"For those of you who are unaware, my name is Effie Trinket, and I am the official escort for District 12!" Do they have to raise their already-high voices at the end of every single sentence of theirs?

"I hope I actually get some decent tributes this year," she mutters into the microphone, "because I actually _asked_ for them this time! Anyway, some of you may be asking how we pick the tributes! Historically, this has been done through a lottery system, as I'm sure it has been explained to you. Each year, we reap one boy and one girl to be the lucky tributes to represent the Districts and fight to the death in the Hunger Games, as a reminder from the Capitol to the Districts' uprising. We slightly revamped the tessera system this year, due to the increased economic development of our marvelous country, but our reaping process has remained largely the same."

I am waiting for the glass jars with names to be brought out, but they don't come, and everyone is very confused at this point.

Effie, after a long pause, steps to the microphone again.

"Every twenty-five years, the Capitol adds a Quarter Quell to the Hunger Games in order to further remind the districts of their subordination to our government. Today, it is my honor to announce that in honor of the one-hundredth anniversary of the Hunger Games, we have the Fourth Quarter Quell, and the First Century Games! The Hunger Games will no longer be the same. Every year, there will be a difference in reaping. Don't worry, we will still revert to the original format once in a while. And I'm sure the arena this year will be wonderful for you all to see. I have toured it, and my, is it something!"

"So, you are all waiting to find out what this twist is. I think all of you tributes know! Your school was interrupted for a couple days last year, was it not?"

Everyone nods.

"And they told you to take a standardized test in eight disciplines, to measure your readiness for college in mind, body, and spirit?"

Everyone nods again. Frankly, we have no choice, unless we wanted to be shot by the Peacekeepers. Those three days of school had been the most boring of the entire year.

"Well, believe it or not," and Effie Trinket is absolutely beaming, "that test was actually designed to let you know how well you would do in the Hunger Games! You may be aware that you did not get your scores—we sent them to colleges and they used them in your admissions, but we have withheld them otherwise."

"That's because we at the Capitol want to eliminate the fittest people from our districts. They are better than everyone else," she spits. "They are a disgrace and they meddle with our regime. So this year, tributes were not reaped. They were selected from the highest-scoring boy and girl in each district. The one thing we want to see is the smartest and toughest people in this country—the best of the best—duke it out to the death. The survival of the fittest will prevail."

"And for the person who wins, there will be a special reward. Far more valuable than the Victor's Village. Far more valuable than anyone who has ever won the Hunger Games in the past. This prize is tremendous. I am sure every single eligible tribute from every single district would volunteer for this prize!"

"But remember that only one of the twenty-four will achieve this honor. And with that caveat, may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Effie Trinket steps forward to announce the names, and my heart seizes up. I had done well on that test, supposedly well enough to get into Harvard. But there are surely people who had done better than me. Surely there were people who had scored higher on the math and logic sections who could think faster and more creatively than me.

The entire crowd is now lamenting sympathetically for Harold Tang, who is going to Stanford's campus on a full scholarship. Harold is sure to be picked. He is by far the smartest of the lot. I can't see anyone else getting picked for boys, unless there is some twelve-year-old genius hidden among us.

Effie jerks back as she prepares to read the first name. "My fault! I forgot something! We have no volunteers this year. Because the tributes are pre-selected, no one will be allowed to replace them. And if you try, both of you—the reaped and the volunteer—will be killed on public television."

Silence ripples through the crowd. Several of the Careers begin yelling expletives at Effie.

"If that's done," Effie says with a disgusted face, "without farther adieu, I would love to introduce our District Twelve male tribute! She gestures to the back, and men come out with two glass jars with one slip of paper in them each. She takes the rightmost of the jars, grasps the slip of paper with her long nails, and reads the name in her head for a second before opening her mouth. Is it Harold Tang? It must be.

"The District Twelve male tribute for the one-hundredth Hunger Games," she says, "will be Travis Heinrich."

Travis! The big, brutish football star! Sure, he was decently smart, but I never imagined that he would ever get the top score on a test. Then again, I remember the couple gym assessments that were part of the test. What were they called? Survival? Athleticism? Something like that. After being told his results would seemingly factor into college admissions, I remember that Harold left crying after seeing what Travis could do. Travis is a big guy, blonde, with a somewhat intelligent face and an affable demeanor. He looks and acts a little like Peeta Mellark. He's not the sort of guy you would ever want to kill. But if he was the top scorer, the bar must be abnormally low. Which means anyone could get drawn in the girls jar as well. Which works both for and against me. But before I can formulate these thoughts together, Effie is going to the female jar, and she is pulling the paper out and reading all that legalese before the name. If she calls my name, I will be ready. Forget about dying in the arena. I can kill Travis. I just have to kill my human instinct first.

Of course, she reads my name. I was chosen. Had been chosen. My memories of being innocent, a normal Capitol citizen, are wiped. I never had any doubt about it, looking back on it seconds after I have just been sent to my death. Kayla Algerson is ushered up to the podium, in that black sacrificial dress, and instead of standing in the crowd, sweating in relief that my name wasn't called, I get to sweat from up here. How entertaining.

I see my mother and she is crying. I will soon put things straight for that. I will either die and she will cry only a little more, or I will win and make her proud of me. It's not her fault in the end. I was selected for this prestigious competition. Heck, it's even harder to get into than Harvard.

The odds of getting out of the arena are higher than the odds of getting reaped.

If I can do that, I can do this. Except it's going to be tough. Against the likes of the Career Tributes from Districts 1 and 2, smart, cunning, and strong to boot.

So now I am up here, staring at Travis, and Effie Trinket makes some remark about how they are all so fortunate to have us be their tributes. Yeah, right.

Then the history and tribute to the Capitol is read again, as usual, except this time I don't get to watch. Effie and a couple Peacekeepers start beckoning to us and we have to walk along the dais getting stared at by the entire crowd there. It's honestly abysmal. I can't imagine how many people are getting hurt by this. My mom will be upset; all my friends will be upset. But they'll be cheering for me, and wishing that I don't die in this mess. Which adds a little bit of hope to it.

Still, I can't help but think that this is probably the last time I'll see some of these people, and the last time they'll see me, until I'm in a coffin getting transported back to the district. So I give them the District 12 salute—the three fingers over my heart, and I even see Virgil Roy nod his assent. It's too painful to watch. I avert my head and look at the floor of the dais.

Effie Trinket pats me on the shoulder. From the stories, I heard all she wanted was to get promoted to a better district.

Well, now 12 is the best district to be in. We won the last Hunger Games. The District, not the tributes. I look back one more time. The same sign they gave Katniss Everdeen. I see Katniss herself giving it to me.

And I'll give them my best fighting shot. Because if I can be the best once, I can be the best again. For District 12.

I take one look back at my home, the only home I have ever known. And then I turn my back on the crowd and step into the Justice Building with my head high, the clock ticking down to the final, sacrificial dance.

 **P.S. If you're wondering about the last few words of this chapter, google the chapter title! The work these two things reference has important repercussions in this story, and, upon further thought, would probably lend itself to a really good crossover...**


End file.
